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monastery hill, Rebo could look out over the city and see thousands of buttery rectangles, each representing a window. It was easy to imagine the warm homey scenes within and the runner felt a momentary sense of envy as the vehicle’s steel-shod wheels bounced through a pothole, and a pack of feral dogs emerged from the thick roadside underbrush to run alongside. That made the angens nervous, and Rebo felt the carriage surge forward as the animals tried to escape their pursuers. The driver hollered, “Whoa!” and hauled back on the reins, but to no avail.
    But the runner had hired two apprentices to accompany him, and the youngsters knew what to do. Both were armed with smooth-bore weapons. Twin flashes strobed the darkness as the youngsters fired, dogs yelped pitifully as the buckshot tore into them, and those that could ran for cover. The angens settled down after that, and Rebo felt confident enough to remove his hand from the Crosser.
    It wasn’t long before the carriage swung through a final turn, half a dozen members of the Dib Wa emerged from the surrounding gloom, and orders were shouted up to the driver. The conveyance jerked to a halt, Rebo opened the door, and jumped to the ground. The runner held his hands away from his body as a warrior approached, located his weapons in record time, and removed both from their holsters.
    Then, satisfied that the visitor had been defanged, a second Dib Wa led Rebo to a man-sized gate that had been set into a larger gate. The runner stepped over the four-inch-high crosspiece at the bottom of the structure and followed the guard into the monastery’s shadowy interior. Rebo felt rather than saw a distinct change, since it was just as dark inside the walls as it was on the outside. But there was no denying the profound sense of peace that pervaded the monastery, a feeling so strong it seemed to emanate from the structures around him the way accumulated heat radiates from a stone.
    Though born on Thara, the planet on which the Way was headquartered, the runner had never been especially religious. Perhaps that was due to the fact that the fisherfolk of Lorval put their faith in a complicated hierarchy of nature spirits rather than a single god, or maybe it was because the runner had left home at the age of twelve. Whatever the reason the result was the same. Though conscious of the Way, and its importance to millions of practitioners, Rebo had never developed an interest in it.
    Golden light spilled out through an open door to make a path across the gray flagstones. A man appeared and stood silhouetted in the opening. It wasn’t until the runner was only a few feet away that he recognized Suu Qwa. “Welcome,” the monk said, bowing deeply. “Please follow me.”
    In spite of the fact that he was an invited guest, the Dib Wa escort continued to tag along behind Rebo, and the runner wondered why an ostensibly peaceful monastery needed so much security. Perhaps the rumors were true—and the basement was packed floor to ceiling with gold ingots.
    Various parts of the temple were connected by a maze of passageways, and there were frequent turns, but if the monks hoped to confuse the runner, they failed. Not only did Rebo have a memory worthy of a tax collector, he had an excellent sense of direction, and knew he could find his way out of the complex on his own should that become necessary.
    Finally, after what he estimated to be a quarter-mile walk, the runner was ushered into a large room. One end was dominated by a twelve-foot-tall likeness of the ascended being Teon. He had eight arms, and eight hands, each of which held a symbol. The teacher sat as he always did, with his feet on top of his thighs, a feat the runner knew he wouldn’t be able to duplicate even with a gun to his head.
    The center of the space was dominated by a circle, representing the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Seated within its embrace was an elderly man and